


Runaways and Businessmen

by Jay_Wells



Series: Modern Thrilling Intent [1]
Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Illegal Activities, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smoking, Social Workers, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, minor legal emancipation, referenced gang activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: Taking in some girl off the street wasn’t going to help his situation much. Thog was a businessman, he made hard, pragmatic decisions, and he didn’t have anything to gain from taking in some runaway.





	1. New Arrivals

Thog had pretty nice place, if he said so himself. Which he did. He’d worked damned hard to rent a flat of his own, even if it was sparsely furnished. The wall art was decent and he had trinkets on his shelves, courtesy of his friend Moren, an archeologist who gave him way too many things not to be taking a huge hit to his sales. And he had potted plants, wilted, sure, but hey, if boring “exotic” plants were a sign of success, he’d hit the jackpot. His student debts were almost paid off, even if he never finished his degree. He’d done well for himself. 

He hadn’t clawed his way off the street without a few nods and winks here and there from the more affluent Shrouds residents, and those came with their own debts. Since he didn’t have money, influence or valuable possessions, he’d had to trade in favors. Over the years, he’d paid most of his debts, except for one.

Kyl’il Saab had been holding onto her favor for six years.

 

The phone rang before five in the morning, which should be a federal offense. Thog had half a mind not to answer the phone, but if he had to listen to its insistent ringing for another minute, he was going to end up in a cell in Stafford Creek. He grabbed the phone and snarled, “What?”

“It’s Kyl’il, Thog.” Her voice was quick and breathy. “I need to call in a favor. Do you have a spare room at your house, about the size of a bedroom?”

“Yeah, it’s a little cramped, though. Are you on the run from somebody and need a place to hide out or something?” It didn’t seem like Kyl’il to get involved with gangs or tangle with the law, but there was a first time for everything. He sat up with a groan and resigned himself that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. “Because you sound, uh, pretty freaked out.”

Kyl’il sucked air in through her teeth. It made a cringe-inducing sound. “Does it have window?”  
“Small one, for ventilation.” Thog scratched the back of his head and turned on the lamp, wincing as the light filled the room. “You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“I have an emergency placement. She needs a place to stay, and -- ”

“ _ Saab _ , I am  _ not _ a foster home. I can’t afford to take in some kid.” If he had that kind of money, he wouldn’t be the manager at a second-rate coffee shop, that was for damn sure. And with Karen’s suspect practices, he’d rather not have CPS sniffing around him and screwing things up. Karen had made it clear that if she went down, he was coming with her, and unlike some people, Thog had a healthy sense of self-preservation. “Find someone else.”

“No, it’s fine,” she rushed out, a pleading tone entering her voice. “She’s seventeen, and she got emancipated from her father a few days ago. She’ll pay rent and everything, but the terms of her emancipation are that she can provide for herself or she’s either going home or into the system. She expressed a desire to avoid both. I’m just trying to make it easy for her.”

“So you want me to take on a boarder,” he deadpanned. A boarder he’d need to house, feed, and who would want to shower and wash her clothes. One who didn’t even have a steady income, and if she got one, still wouldn’t be able to make up the difference. Nobody respectable was going to hire some kid still in school, and the places that would wouldn’t being paying her a living wage. It wasn’t like she had anybody in her corner. Thog did not like the sound of it, not even a little bit. 

There was a moment of silence. “Yes. She won’t be much trouble, I promise. And you owe me, Thog, so just draw up a contract for the next two months while she gets on her feet. She’s got some money, and I’ll make up whatever she can’t pay. You can take it off what you owe me.”

Taking in some girl off the street wasn’t going to help his situation much. Maybe he’d make a couple extra bucks, but if he made too much, it’d be a fucking nightmare. He’d have to declare the extra income on his taxes. Kyl’il would judge the fuck out of him; folk around town said she radiated warmth, but the things she could do with a  _ look _ gave you cold chills. If he made too little, it wasn’t worth the hassle. Thog was a businessman, he made hard, pragmatic decisions, and he didn’t have anything to gain from taking in this runaway. He owed Kyl’il, but all she had on him was an unspoken contract.

The kid had wanted away from her old man so much, she could watch her own back. This little fiasco proved she was too naive to be out here.

A splinter of guilt wouldn’t leave him alone, though. He’d been in situations he couldn’t control before. A rich man once said that God gave him his riches, but anybody who grew up poor knew how much bullshit that was. God was just as stingy with his handouts as the next CEO. Thog’s mother had worked sixty hour weeks waiting tables to send him to college, but his father, slaving below mountains, had contracted black lung and his insurance wouldn’t pay for treatment because it “was a known risk for the profession.” His parents had always been amicable despite their divorce, and his mother approached him with bloodshot eyes from sleepless nights and tears and told him his father needed the money. Thog had never wanted to see his mother like that, he never wanted to again. 

God better fucking not be giving handouts.

His father hung on by the skin of his teeth and sent them a long thank you letter. When the federal government asked Thog how much his parents could contribute to college, there wasn’t a box for seven hundred dollars, so he checked two thousand. He got a check a week later for one hundred dollars, enough to cover a single book. 

No college wanted him anyway, not when the number of petty crimes on his rap sheet was more than his GPA doubled.

Kyl’il, a professional collector of outcasts, had taken interest in him and co-signed his loans, written him glowing letters of recommendation and gotten him interviews with the right people. He didn’t die in a mine or a jail cell like his high school principal predicted, so now she expected him to pay it forward.

“Fine, Kyl’il, but this pays off my debt, you hear?” Thog got out bed and stumbled toward his computer. He needed to get a lease together before the kid arrived. “Two months, then you rehouse her.” 

“Thank you, Thog. I’ll be there in an hour.”

 

Law school had taught him all the legal jargon he needed to cover his ass, and he used it to the best of his ability, dashing out a comprehensive lease that protected him from almost any liability in forty-five minutes. The paper was still warm from the printer when he heard a knock on the door. Despite the terms buzzing in his head, his body was sleep-deprived and running on fumes, and he drug his feet as he walked to the front door. The knocking increased in urgency, and annoyance rose up in him. “I’m coming, for fuck’s sake.”

It stopped and he breathed a sigh of relief before opening the door.

A skittish teen with dark under-eye bruises and frizzy red hair waited, eyes flicking left and right like somebody was following her. She carried a large duffle bag over her shoulder that looked almost as big as her. In a thick Massachusetts accent, she asked, “Are you Thog?”

“Yeah, uh, do you want to come in or something?” He stepped aside to make room. April had brought some warmth, but the temperature still dropped in the thirties at night and in the mornings.

She glanced back at Kyl’il’s car idling on the curb. The woman made a motion with her hands and the girl nodded. She stepped into the house and held tightly to her bag, twisting the strap in her hands. “Thanks. My name’s Ashe.”

 

* * *

 

Ashe scanned the contract, not wanting to look stupid. It was a jumble of words that she couldn’t make sense of, and she felt ill. She’d seen signs for shops, blinking screens announcing flight times and travel pamphlets with bright pictures of capitol buildings and flowering trees in the airport, but the words were short and to the point:  _ Annie’s Pretzels _ ; _ flight 201 is arriving _ ; _ visit Kentucky. _ There were words like  _ liability _ and  _ facsimile _ that she didn’t know. Thog scrutinized her with cold, dead eyes and she ducked her head. She didn’t have a choice but to sign it, and Kyl’il trusted him. Ashe didn’t, but she had sleep somewhere and Thog’s house looked a lot cozier than a park bench.

There was a line at the bottom of the lease. She pointed to it. “I just sign here?”

“Yeah, and print your name underneath. Try to speed this up, kid. I’d like to get a few hours of sleep before I have to go to work,” he monotoned. 

She nodded and with great care signed her name on the line, failing to steady her shaking hand. Thog grabbed the paper and scrawled his own signature. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Aesling Kelly, huh?”

“It’s a perfectly normal name!” She felt her cheeks heating up and crossed her arms.

Thog folded up the contract and slid it into his pajama pants pocket. “O.K., sure, whatever. Your room’s down the hall, first door on the left. ”

“That’s fine.” Ashe hefted up her duffle bag and walked down the hallway. She hadn’t slept since her court hearing, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep now. Everything was surreal, like she’d wake up in her bedroom back in her dad’s house. She didn’t want that.

The room was barren, white walls, unfurnished and there was a thick layer of dust on the window sill. Kyl’il said she’d be here for two months and then she’d have to relocate again, so there would be no point in saving up for a bed. Ashe pulled off her hoodie and balled it up into a makeshift pillow. Pressing her face into the gray cotton, she inhaled and was comforted by the familiar scent of fabric softener. 

 

She padded into the kitchen the next morning, still in her rumpled clothes from two days ago. Thog was already in there, sipping a mug of coffee with the business section of the local newspaper spread out on his kitchen table. “Morning, Thog.”

He grunted. “There’s coffee in the pot. If you want it a little Irish, there’s whiskey in the cupboard. If not, don’t you dare blab. Kyl’il will be breathing down my neck for the next fifty fucking years.”

Ashe had to admit, she  _ was _ curious. Alcohol, like many other things, had been forbidden to her most of her life, and there was a certain lure to it. But she had a meeting with the school counselor to discuss enrollment -- after being “home schooled” for twelve years, the state had to evaluate how up to date she was with Common Core. And since the meeting would be one of too many to determine if she was adjusting, it might be best not to show up drunk. “Not now. Later maybe?”

Thog’s lip twitched in what might’ve been an attempted smile, but he didn’t look up from his paper.

She poured herself a cup of black coffee and sipped on it, leaning against the countertop. “So … Is Thog your real name or a nickname?”

“Fucking  _ wow, _ ” he drawled. “Have you taken a listen to your own name, because mine is far less conspicuous.”

“Fine, sorry.” Ashe finished her coffee and stretched. “I have to go.”

“Don’t have to tell me shit, I’m not your father.” Thog continued to read his paper and nurse his coffee. “Just your landlord.”


	2. Better Than Drinking Alone

Having Ashe around wasn’t the absolute worst thing, Thog decided. She didn’t get on him for drinking and smoking the way his mother did anytime she came to visit. She kept to herself, cleaned up her messes, bought her own food and didn’t cause him trouble. Ashe was alright, he supposed. 

Right now she was sitting cross-legged on the couch and cursing through  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , a standard for freshman year -- a year her father had decided was unimportant in his lesson plans. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

He sat down his paper and leaned over. “You’re being pretty fucking loud. Could you maybe suffer in silence, like everybody else?”

She glowered at him, not as jumpy as when she first arrived. Her voice was caustic. “I’m sorry, does my reading bother you?”

“Your muttering is getting on my last nerve.” Thog lit a cigarette and relaxed on his recliner -- expensive and for his rear alone -- puffing out a smoke ring. “It’s the most basic play. What part are you on?”  
“Romeo’s rolling on the ground and threatening to kill himself. This is the second time, I’m pretty sure.” She furrowed her brow. “It seems … extreme. Life is so … one-of-a-kind and he’s so casual about ending it. I don’t like it.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Thog said. High school had been hell, but he’d attended his drama and literature classes like poetry was a religion. “Shakespeare’s trying to portray love as this forceful, violent emotion that blinds you and makes you senseless. Romeo and Juliet are willing to abandon their friends and family -- remember, ‘Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet’?”

Ashe’s head tilted to the left. “How’d you know that so fast?”

“Everyone reads it in high school. It’s not hard,” he mumbled.

“Oh. Well, that makes it easier. Thanks, Thog.” Ashe opened up her spiral notebook and scribbled something in it.

After a few minutes, he asked, “So, I guess they decided to stick you in freshman classes?”

“No, not all of them.” Her voice was distracted and faded in and out while she tried to split her attention between him and Romeo. “I tested out of geography, earth sciences and basic algebra, and they’re letting me make up freshman English, geometry and U.S. history over the summer. I’ll start high school in the fall as a sophomore. Right now it’s all online. ”

“Hm,” Thog inhaled another lungful of smoke. He could see his mother’s face as he exhaled -- a mixture of worry and disapproval. 

“You only have one set of lungs,” she’d said when she’d visited him on Easter. “Your father  almost died because of his lungs.”

Thog always felt guilty when she visited and quit smoking for a month, but then things would get fucked up at work and he needed to ease the stress. If Karen didn’t insist on paying the local gang for protection instead of buying a fucking security system and paid her workers legally, it would be a lot less paperwork and headaches for him.

Ashe stood up and cracked her back. “I should get to bed. I have a test in the morning, and then I need to get to apartment hunting. Good night.”

That was right. Her lease was almost up. Thog had gotten used to having a housemate, and the thought of silence felt emptier now. He wouldn’t call her a friend, per se, but he was used to her presence.

She was waiting for an answer. He just nodded, and she gathered up her books and disappeared down the hall. 

 

“Hey, Thog, you wouldn’t believe this Viking grave I just dug up. There’s Roman coins in here and everything, which  _ proves _ \-- yet again -- that they were trading with the empire.” Moren called him at all hours to monologue about his adventures. When Thog was still in college and working summers at the theme park, Moren begged him to come along.

“It’ll be good for you,” he’d reasoned. 

“Not for my wallet.” Thog hadn’t been ready to budge on the matter. “Travel is pretty fucking expensive.”

These days Moren left him to his own devices, but the phone rang at least once a week. Sometimes when Moren was back in the country they’d meet up in their home state of Texas, but he was returning to the states less. He loved Greece so much that Thog expected him to move there for good any day now.

“Good for you. How’s your hotel? The last one had a rat problem, if I recall.” He tried not to snicker at the memory of Moren calling him and screaming that he had a rat problem. 

There was a huffy laugh from the other end of the line. “Yeah … I’m actually staying in a, uh, they call it a ‘hytte.’ Don’t ask me to pronounce that right, because I can’t. Anyway, it’s clean, but there’s an outhouse. And I have to bathe in a frozen lake. I’m looking forward to finishing up this dig and hoofin’ back to the city and indoor plumbing.” Then he said, “I’m sorry about leaving you alone over there all the time, but I can’t really do my work from the Shrouds. What’s new with you?”

“Well, you’ve been replaced.” Thog smirked, even though he knew Moren couldn’t see it. “Got myself a housemate.”

“No way,” Moren drawled. He didn’t lose his even tone or the slight pitch of amusement. “How could any guy measure up to me?”

A genuine smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. There was some truth to what Moren said: his mother was back in Texas, his father in Kentucky and Moren currently in Northern Europe. He had no other family, and it had been a while since he and Moren got to bullshit. “She doesn’t track dust all through my living room for one thing.”

“You got a girlfriend?” His voice sounded strange, too strained to be natural.

Thog didn’t pay it mind. “God, no. Why the fuck is that your first assumption?”

“Thog, you said you had a girl living with you.” His voice was relaxed again, light and teasing. “I was going to congratulate you on finding someone to put up with your miserable ass.”

“That hurt my feelings,” he said without emotion. “Besides, she’s in high school. I’m not a damn pervert.”

“Oh.” Moren went quiet. “Is she a half-sister you didn’t tell me about or … ?”

He stood up off his recliner and wandered down the hall to his bedroom. “Just a boarder, as a favor for a mutual acquaintance. She’s leaving soon.”

“Thog.” He said his name with a heavy sigh. “You can have friends, you know. It’s alright. Everybody knows you’re not weak.”

“Night, Moren.” He opened the door to his room and started to close it behind him. He hesitated a little.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ashe was little, she and her father used to go on frequent camp trips. They used to do it right, with tarps and flint. He taught her to build a fire, pitch a tent and hunt. They used to be a family before he decided she was too old for that.

But those years of learning woodsmanship paid off and it was easy to adjust to sleeping on the floor. What wasn’t easy to adjust to was having objects hurled at you. No sooner had she changed out of her jeans and into a comfy pair of black sweatpants than Thog opened her door and hurled a sleeping bag at her, beaming her squarely in the back of the head. She spun around, a move that failed to be impressive since she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, giving Thog an exaggerated height advantage over her. 

“Why?” she demanded.

“Just go to sleep.” He said it with conviction, like he had the authority to force her to go to sleep, whether she wanted to or not. Rage, for the first time in a long while, welled up in her chest.

_ I’m not your father. _

Damn right he wasn’t.

“What’s the occasion?” she spat. He hadn’t offered it before, there was no reason to now. The sudden gift made her beyond suspicious. “What do I owe you?”

She hadn’t meant to say the last part, but it slipped out. She was so, so tired of oweing people; it was always an advance payment, and she was always left out to dry.

Thog’s face hardened. He slammed the door.

“Oh, screw you,” she shouted. She wished he hadn’t opened the door, because it had been a nice, relaxing evening, and now she was angry and crying and didn’t know why. She didn’t even know how to begin calming herself down, and that made her even angrier. She whispered to herself, “Get a grip, Ashe. It’s  _ fine _ .” 

 

Ashe was still curled up against her door that morning, and she was still exhausted and upset. The sun was just peering over the horizon. She didn’t think she’d be going to sleep. Maybe the youth center was open and she could spend a few hours there before she had to take her exams this morning.

She slinked into the kitchen and made a simple breakfast of toast and jam. She poured a ton of sugar into her coffee and enough cream to turn it white. She chewed on her thoughts while she ate her breakfast and decided that the youth center was worth a try.

Stopping by her room, she grabbed her bookbag and her wallet in case she wanted anything out of the vending machine. She considered grabbing everything, but knew the possibility of her coming back after last night would drop from ‘I’ll be out ‘til late, don’t wait up’ to ‘fuck you and everything you love and I’m never coming back’ if she had nothing to come back to. She locked the room behind her.

 

The youth center was half a mile away, and she arrived a bit after five in the morning. Luckily Horaven was already on the steps and unlocking the front doors. A small blond kid that she remembered seeing before in a framed photo on the guidance counselor’s desk was leaning against the wall next to him in a long, ratty trenchcoat. He was going for badass, but he looked too young. He had soft round cheeks and a slight frame, none of which lent itself to the threatening appearance he wanted.

“Hey, Horaven.” Ashe waved. “Are you guys open?”

Horaven turned around and boomed, “Ashe, of course. Come in, you’re always welcome here. I was just showing Zalvetta around.”

The blond kid waved. 

They entered the center and Horaven turned on the lights before heading off to do some maintenance work. A familiar, splatter-painted banner hung across the entrance to greet visitors:  _ Horaven’s Home for Troubled Youth. _

She didn’t even need to look at the directional sign anymore to find her way to the gym. Zalvetta followed her, not speaking or showing any interest at starting a conversation. That was fine with Ashe and she stepped on a treadmill, starting off on a steady jog. Zalvetta stood on the rubber mats somewhere behind her and started stretching. His quiet demeanor unsettled her; even the way he walked made no sound. He couldn’t be a ghost if Horaven had seen him too.

It was a silly train of thought, particularly when others were troubling her. 

First was school. Despite the classes she’d tested out of, and the summer courses, she was starting classes as a sophomore instead of as a junior or a senior. She would be twenty when she graduated, and that was provided she didn’t fail any classes. Her stomach knotted at the thought. Twenty was cutting it close and GED classes, even ones here at the center, were expensive.

She knew it wasn’t going to be easy when she signed the emancipation documents, but Kyl’il hadn’t warned her about how lonely it was going to be on her own. She’d been busy with work and school the past month and a half. There hadn’t been a lot of time for socializing, and Thog was pretty eager to get rid of her. She’d bet he’d pay somebody to take her off his hands.

She wondered if she was better off going back to Meathe. Her father would be pleased -- and smug. He’d warned her about leaving.

“Whatever you think is out there for you, it’s not.” He’d been livid when her lawyer served him. “It’s nothing but pain and fear. It’s safe here. You have food, a home, security. What more could you want?”

She hadn’t been able to answer him.

_ What more do you want? _

She still didn’t know. Something. She knew enough to know some piece wasn’t fitting into place in Meathe, and the little township had something very, very wrong with it.

Ashe checked the analog clock on the wall. It was six-thirty, and she had an English test in an hour. 

 

* * *

 

Thog was still fuming in the morning.  _ What do I owe you? _ Real fucking grateful, wasn’t she, after he agreed to rent out a room to her last-minute. He hadn’t asked anything beyond the payment the room was worth and that she be out in two months, so what the actual fuck had he done that she expected him to hold her up over a goddamn sleeping bag. He wasn’t Tammany fucking Hall. Fucking shit.

To top it off, his head was pounding and his nose was stuffy. He thought he was coming down with a fever.

He stumbled down the hall to the kitchen. Grumbling, he got his morning coffee and whiskey and sipped it. When he turned on the light, something silver glinted on the floor. He knelt down to pick it up: Ashe’s key. He set his mug down and checked her door. Locked. “Ah, son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

“Motherfucker,” Ashe muttered. 

The bored cashier raised a black eyebrow. “If you don’t have the money to pay for that, you’re going to have to leave. Next time, try  _ not _ forgetting your wallet.”

She blushed bright red. “Sorry, I lost my key. How much was the book again?”

“‘Punching Your Way to the Truth’ by Colvin Hume, an  _ excellent choice, _ will be thirteen ninety-nine. Cash, not credit.” The half-bored, half-smug expression never left the woman’s face. Ashe got the distinct impression that her slow, lazy tone was meant to mock her. “You don’t look like someone who could hit very hard, so I’m surprised you picked it. But I hear it’s quite the read. Some boy bought it a week ago, along with a copy of ‘The Monster Manual’ by Ventis Armstrong. He seemed to like it.”

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

Ashe bristled. She ground her teeth and handed the money over, counting out fourteen of her most crumpled ones. 

The woman, whose nametag read ‘Inien,’ smirked and handed over the book in a shopping bag along with her receipt and penny. 

She snatched it, making it clear that she didn’t appreciate Inien’s condescension. 

“Have a  _ fantastic _ day, and come back soon.”

It took a lot of effort not to tell the woman to fuck off.

 

There was an old payphone attached to the general store. Ashe walked past it twice, craning her neck to see the prices. It was fifty cents. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the contents, fifty cents.

She wished she wasn’t so superstitious, because she was standing in front of a pay phone holding a pair of quarters. 

_ Clink! Clink! _

The phone was ringing. 

Her hands shook and she was afraid she’d drop the receiver. 

“Hello,” a voice croaked. “This Cronin Kelly Sr.”

“ _ Athair chriona _ ,” she breathed as she switched over to Gaelic. “It’s me.”

“Aesling?” her grandfather asked, sounding uncertain. “Where are you?”

She smiled, feeling much better hearing his familiar voice. The language felt like home in a way Meathe never had. “I’m safe, don’t worry.”

He was silent on the other end for a minute, and she was afraid he’d dropped the call. “Granda? You’re still there?”

“Yes, Aesling. I’m relieved you’re safe.” His voice turned reproachful. “I haven’t heard from you in almost two months. You gave me a heart attack.”

“No.” She held up a hand to her mouth. Her grandfather was old, a heart attack could be fatal.

“Not literally, young Aesling,” he amended. A little hesitant, he added, “Can I come visit you?”

Ashe debated it for a moment. He might bring her father, intentionally or not. “I … I need to get back you on that. Not right now.”

“I understand.” His was confused and hurt, and it made her ache inside. “I love you. Be safe.”

“I will,” she answered. “Love you, too.” 

She hung the phone up and sat down on the sidewalk, thinking.

 

* * *

 

Thog found Ashe curled up with her knees against her chest under a phone booth on the southern edge of town. He leaned against the wall next to her awkwardly. It looked like she might start spilling her problems to him if he poked at her, and he hated when people did that. He was angry at her, but the guilt that convinced him to write the lease started niggling at him again. She looked pretty fucking pathetic, and his anger had died down somewhat. “Running away, again? It’s only been two fuckin’ months.” 

He winced. It sounded much harsher than he’d meant.

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Missin’ home, I’d guess.” His Texan drawl was slipping through, and he tried like mad to shove it back down. That part of his life was over. “You wanna go back and visit.”

“No,” she groaned. “The people were damn awful. I miss the trees, though.”

“We have trees here, probably just like the ones in Massachusetts.” He hated this. Opening up was a stupid thing to do. All it did was make you miss people when they were gone, and you got this grin on your face when they visit. You look fucking stupid.

Ashe was far away. “Not like back … in Meathe. The trees are ancient. I guess these ones are close, but they feel different.”

He was pretty sure trees were trees, wherever you were, but it sounded important to Ashe, so decided to not be an asshole about it for once in his life. 

“Mostly I miss my Granda and hearing my own language.” Her accent thickened toward the end of her sentence.

She sounded miserable. He handed her his flask. It was the only comfort he knew how to offer. 

She took a swig. “Thanks, Thog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the universe:  
> 1) Moren is an archeologist. He travels a lot and always sends Thog good stuff.  
> 2) I've got plans for Inien that I'm really excited about.
> 
> Also, Gregor and Markus are going to show up next chapter.


	3. All of Your Problems Start in Court

Thog had met Markus Velafi once, the day he dropped out of law school. It was an experience he loathed to repeat.

“Pick a card, any card,” Velafi had shouted like a carnival barker and shoved a deck of brightly colored cards into Thog’s face, fanned out between slender fingers.

“What?” He’d been confused. He had just dropped out and was having a bad day. If he’d realized who it was, he would’ve run far away. The man had a reputation.

The amount of glitter he wore shamed eighties pop stars, and if you commented on it, he threw a handful on you. There tended to be at least three or four sparkling students on campus. For some reason, they never learned not to fuck with him and his glitter, which he insisted came from the gods.

Velafi shamelessly loved having all eyes on him. He also enjoyed money, and he perfected the art of the sleight-of-hand. A handful of particularly stupid freshmen gathered around him every year, and he picked them clean. His pranks, on the other hand, were mostly harmless, if annoying. Things like hiding a single sock under your bed and taping the other on the ceiling. He was also the kid from middle school who, if you bet him cash, would eat worms. At least, that was the impression Thog got from the dizzying list of things he’d allegedly ingested. Things from the chem lab, where they made you sign a waiver  _ not _ to ingest things. 

Then, he talked to himself. He didn’t call it that, but it was what he did. Little red men, who had names and he could ‘spawn’ at will. He often threatened to punt them at people who annoyed him. No one knew what the fuck he was talking about.

And his great social suicide was that he befriended Kier Fiore, a brilliant but terrifying engineer student, who the school should’ve known better than to let near explosives. Honestly, the damage done to the labs was their own damn fault. Fiore and Velafi were chaotic forces on their own, but together they decimated what was left of the student body’s sanity.

These things had made Velafi unpopular in school and made Thog hesitant to seek him out. However, Velafi was, some-fucking-how, valedictorian and a brilliant defense attorney. The young lawyer’s career had skyrocketed when he his first case out of law school was a murder trial where he not only proved his client innocent but proved that the prosecuting side had been the ones to murder the victim. Thog was waiting in his living room for Velafi to arrive because of that. He almost hoped he didn’t show, though. It wasn’t his job to get Hartway a lawyer; the state could take care of that with ease. 

“You’re getting soft,” Karen had complained last time they met. She’d sat at her desk, prim and put-together, voice hardly rising or falling as she spoke and her face as unchanging as a porcelain doll. “I don’t pay you to be soft, I pay you to make me money. It’s that new housemate, I think. Get rid of her, or I’ll make you regret it.”

“O.K., sure,” he’d replied. “She’ll be gone in a month anyway.”

Ashe had shown up nearly a year ago, and he just rewrote her contract every two months. It was becoming a running gag between them. Thog was certain that extended exposure to people shorted out your ability to make good business decisions. He should see a doctor about it.

The front door swung open and Velafi strutted in, wearing a tailored black suit and purple tie. Thog remained wary, searching for any hidden pouches of glitter. 

“Markus Velafi, at your service.” Velafi greeted him with an extravagant bow. “You said you need my legal expertise? Please, explain the case, and we’ll discuss fees after.”

Thog would’ve liked to discuss fees now, to be sure he wasn’t going to get screwed, but upsetting Velafi led to glitter showers. Or glitter bombs, considering the company he kept. “The cafe where I work got robbed a few days back, and the kid that got arrested was the wrong guy. I don’t appreciate being robbed, so I’d like the motherfucker that did it to get canned. If this Hartway kid goes to jail, that’s not going to happen.”

“Do you have any proof that it wasn’t him?” Velafi sat down and made himself at home in Thog’s recliner. 

His eye twitched. “Other than that he was passed out, had no money on him and the money that he  _ didn’t have _ was mysteriously gone from the register?”

“Wow, and the cop’s still arrested him?” His eyebrows shot up. “That’s pretty sad.”

“Yeah, work around people long enough and you’ll eventually realize that most of humanity’s pretty sad.”

Velafi smiled at that. “Are there any witnesses? Did anyone see him not steal the money?”

“The bus girl was there. She could tell you.” Thog’s fingers twitched toward his pocket where he used to keep his cigarettes. They weren’t there anymore. If he could keep them not there, his mother would be pleased on her next visit. 

He nodded and in a smooth motion, flicked out a pair of black wire frame glasses and jabbed himself in the eye putting them on. Thog’s confidence plummeted.

“Where is the witness?” Velafi blinked his injured eye as it teared up. “I should talk to her, start building my case.”

“Down the hall, last door to the right past the kitchen.” Thog gestured with his thumb. He could sight flashes of colored lights at the edge of his vision. 

Velafi nodded again and went on his way. Thog rubbed his temples and opened up the compartment in his recliner. He pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, lit one and felt the smoke soothe his migraine. He’d lasted two and a half days.

His mother would be disappointed if she saw how fast he fell back into old habits.

 

* * *

 

Donna incorrectly labeled another topographic line on the map, and Ashe wanted to tear out her hair. Every time the little brunette fucked up, Ashe had to fix it after she left to avoid offending Donna  _ and _ getting a low score. She wished she had a different partner, but everyone else at school had known each other since Kindergarten and knew who they wanted. The teacher hadn’t even finished his sentence before students started making eye contact and negotiating alliances through a silent language of hand gestures and eyebrow wiggles that Ashe had never been fluent in. The second he released them to begin their projects, everyone sped across the classroom to their chosen partner, leaving Ashe with Donna, an overeager student of geography. Ashe had felt bad for her friendless situation and hadn’t minded at first, but it became apparent that her eagerness did not translate into aptitude.

She still felt bad, but she definitely minded. This was one of the few subjects she had an A in, and if she was going to be doing all the work, she might as well work alone. At least then if she had to redo anything, it was her own damn fault.

“It’s so nice to have someone willing to work with me.” Donna smiled up at Ashe. “I always have to work alone, no matter how much I do, I get an F. But with you here, I’m sure we’ll get an A!”

Ashe took another sip from her whiskey. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Her smile faltered. “Uh, should you be drinking that?”

“I only drink at home,” she assured her. “And I’ve never gotten drunk.”

“And that’s fine with your dad?” There was a nervous edge to Donna’s voice. She glanced over at the door.

“Dunno. He’s back in Mass.” With a shrug, she finished her drink. 

The girl’s wide cow-brown eyes flicked back to the door. “The guy in the living rooms not … ” 

Ashe choked. “Gods, no. Thog isn’t -- that’s not my dad. We aren’t related.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

The question was innocuous, but Ashe didn’t think her cheeks could get any redder. “Most definitely not. Gods, he’s my landlord.”

“I don’t think it’s legal for a tenant to rent rooms to other people,” Donna commented.

There was a knock at the door. Ashe sighed in relief.

“Come in, Thog,” she called. He didn’t bother her when she was in her room often, so it was a surprise, though a pleasant one. Donna’s probing questions were getting uncomfortable 

The door cracked open and a blond man poked his head through. “Afraid I’m not Thog. Sorry to be interrupting anything.”

His blue eyes searched between Donna and Ashe, then rested on Donna. “You must be the lady I’m looking for.”

Which was odd, since Donna didn’t live, wasn’t associated with Thog and hadn’t told her parents much beyond that she was going to a friend’s, so there was no reason to look for her here. Ashe ran a hand through her bleached hair, soft and poofy since she’d cut it, and put the pieces together. Thog had mentioned calling a lawyer for Gregor Hartway. The man now engaged in conversation with Donna kept mentioning a court case.

So this was the lawyer, he was looking for a witness to build his case and he thought Donna was her. He assumed she was a boy, most like. She snickered.

The lawyer froze, a slow blush creeping up his pale cheeks. “Ah, miss, do you mind if I talk to your friend for a bit? It’s, uh, very important.”

“Okay.” Donna stayed right where she was.

Taking pity on the lawyer, Ashe spoke up. “We can meet again tomorrow, same time. The projects not due until Friday, and you’ve been working hard today. I’d feel bad if I didn’t do some of it.”

Donna’s face fell a little, but she got up and left.

“I may have made a mistake,” the man said when she’d left. “Don’t tell anyone, please. Sorry about that. What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” she countered. It was a silly superstition, but she couldn’t shake her father’s words. _ Names have power, Aesling. If you tell someone your name before you get theirs, they hold the advantage. _

The man’s eyes widened a little. His cheeks were still flushed, and now he appeared flustered. “Well, I asked you first.”

“So?” She scooted away from him. He was too close.

He noticed her movement and stood, followed by a bow. “If you insist, my name is Markus Tannhauser Velafi.” 

Sounded faker than a two dollar bill.  _ Was that the saying Thog used? _ Close enough. “I’m Aesling.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Markus whistled. “Mind if I call you Ashe?”

“Please do.” She pulled her legs up onto the bed.

“Well, you must be the -- ” 

She cut him off with a smirk. “Witness for the court case Thog’s putting together? I believe that what this is, yes.”

“Is that our official title?” Markus grinned. “Then let’s get to it. Tell me what you saw.”

 

* * *

 

“Send Velafi back where he came from and cancel the hearing,” the dark figure hissed, booze rolling off his breath in waves. Something pressed against Thog’s throat, too dull to be a proper knife but sharp enough to draw blood. “Hartway will be fine. He can be with his dear Ventis again.”

The idea was tempting. Hartway was no blood of his, and this wasn’t really his business. It wasn’t anything to die for. But this guy had fucking robbed him, and goddammit, he couldn’t let that shit stand.

“Go fuck yourself.” Thog shoved the drunkard away and removed his button-down -- he didn’t need this asshole’s blood ruining it. 

While the man was still off-balance, he fell into a crouch and hit the man’s shoulder with a straight punch, followed by a left hook. The first blow caught the man, but he managed to duck the second and landed a jab to Thog’s abdomen. As Thog prepared a counterattack, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and his vision blurred.  _ Sonuvabitch stabbed me. _

Falling to his knees, Thog pawed the ground for his shoulder bag and tried to stem the bleeding with his other. His assailant came at him, and he kicked the man’s shin. He cussed and took a step back just as Thog’s fingers brushed over the faux-leather strap. With a yank, the bag scuttled toward him and he undid the latch, pulling out a gun. 

Thog aimed upwards and fired a warning shot. “You have ten minutes, exactly before the cops arrive. See how fast your ass can run.”

“They’ll arrest you too,” the man said. “Don’t think they won’t, because you fired your gun in a residential area.”

“I’m willing to bet that I have better connections than you.” He had no idea if that was true. Karen might decide he wasn’t worth the effort, but this guy didn’t know that.

After a moment’s hesitation, the man took off down the alley and swung left onto a side street. Thog waited until he couldn’t hear the man’s tennis shoes on the sidewalk and made his own getaway, slipping up the back streets and taking the long way home. As he slipped his shirt back on -- he looked less suspicious and it was dark enough that the bloodstain wasn’t too noticeable -- he heard sirens wailing. His heart rate sped up and he tried to force himself to be calm; he didn’t want to call his mother from inside a jail cell again.

“Why do you do this yourself, Danny?” she’d asked the last time he’d gotten arrested, seven years ago for petty theft. “You’re a smart boy, you like art. You could go places, but you do stupid things like this. Why?”

He kicked himself every day for the heartbroken, loving and pitying look in her eyes when he couldn’t answer her question. The youth counselors he had to speak to after every hearing, his teachers and principals, and his parole officer all clamored to deliver explanations for his “troubled behavior.” They said it was because his parents were divorced. Then they said it was because they were immigrants. Then they said it was because he was poor. After that, they finally said it: he was a  _ bad kid _ .

Time and distance had given him the answer to his mother’s question. He did it because he was angry. He was angry that the state thought he was a bad kid because he fell through the cracks that  _ they _ made. He was even angrier that they thought he was a bad kid because he was the son of poor divorced immigrants.

Fuck those people.

If he got arrested tonight after seven years with a clean record, and the cops investigated the company and Karen was exposed, they would find that he was in neck deep with a local gang and he paid under the table. Then they’d find out that he was renting to Ashe, and it wasn’t quite legal. Then everything else he’d done to get this far. His whole world would come crumbling down around him and his mother would ask why and they would tell her was because he was a bad kid.

He was not getting arrested tonight.

 

Thog didn’t want anyone in the apartment building to see him, so he climbed up the fire escape. The house was quiet, and it was well after midnight on a Wednesday, so he assumed Ashe was asleep. He limped down the hall toward the bathroom, trying not to make too much noise as he passed her bedroom door, and cursed under his breath. 

Steam was billowing under the bathroom door. The telltale squeak of the water turning off sounded louder than usual. He started to turn and hurry back to his room when the door opened and Ashe stepped out wearing her plaid pajama pants and an oversized Shrouds High t-shirt. Her hair was wrapped up in the towel. The ever-present under-eye bruises became more pronounced as the blood drained from her cheeks. She looked her age for once.

“Thog, what the  _ fuck _ happened?” she squeaked. “Gods, you’re bleeding  _ everywhere _ . Sit down right now, I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

Thog composed himself. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Ashe glared. “Sit down.”

 

* * *

 

Ashe watched her hands carefully as she pressed a towel to the wound. Medicine was one of the few things she hadn’t learned from her father. Her grandfather had taught her this. It was something that came almost naturally; it was methodical and required a steady hand. It didn’t even require awkward small talk. Just a simple, business-like service. 

She'd had a lot of practice setting broken bones and healing injured factory workers, and she could do this blindfolded. Thog would make her leave if she stared at his scars, though, so she focused on her hands, now covered in his blood.  _ Gods, there are so many. _

They were faded and clearly very old. He couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, so how old had he been when he got the scars. She thought of the tattoos marking her chest and felt an ache of sympathy. 

She removed the towel and exhaled. The wound had stopped bleeding and didn’t seem as deep as she’d thought. “There, the bleeding’s stopped.”

“Thanks, you can go now.” Thog started to stand up. “Don’t you have school in the morning?”

“I don’t sleep,” she said briskly. “Sit back down. I need to clean it and make sure it doesn’t get infected, after all the work I did. If you didn’t want me to fix it, you should’ve let me take you to a hospital.”

“I’ve done this before. Leave.” His harsh, angry tone didn’t leave much room for argument. She glanced at the clock. It was one-thirty.

Ashe stood up and threw her hands in exasperation because she didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Fine. Whatever.”

_ If you want to die of gangrene, be my fucking guest. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) Ventis is still alive in this universe. So are Kier's parents. Ventis is in jail for trespassing and hazing, Mr. and Mrs. Fiore live a little ways outside town.


	4. Faltering

Ashe tapped her pen and waited for Xin, the guidance counselor, to finish his paperwork. She hoped Xin kept his scolding brief. She had homework tonight and wanted get as much sleep in as possible before her five o’clock shift in the morning. 

He lifted his head and blinked. “Oh, Ashe, I didn’t see you there.”

She bit back a sigh. Xin pulled this same gimmick every time a student stepped into his office. She put up with it because he could be understanding when he chose to be. “Hello, Mr. Zǔ. I was told to come see you after school.”

“Yes, the principal was adamant that we meet.” Xin set a manila folder with her name on the cover between them. He flipped it open and pulled out her midterm reports. She winced: it was mostly D’s and C’s. “Ashe, you haven’t been keeping up with your work. It’s the policy at Shrouds to inform our students when they are close to failing.”

She flinched. “I get the work done, if I take it home. I just -- I have a job, and -- What more do you want from me?”

“Ashe, you’re not in trouble. I want to help you.” Xin flipped to a several pink pages, her discipline reports. “Teachers have cited lack of participation, effort and attention as reasons for your grades. Mrs. McKenzie complained that you frequently ask to visit the nurse during class reading. She is under the impression that you are willfully mispronouncing simple words because she does not allow you to go.”

“I’m not faking it, I get headaches,” Ashe defended.

He nodded. “When we first spoke back in May, you seemed rather determined to make it on your own. I emailed your teachers this morning to ask for behavioural reports, and they were consistent with my conclusion. Then I checked to see if the school had you psychologically evaluated and found that you were never tested.” He wrinkled his nose. “Which, considering you were locked up for almost eighteen years with your father, was a grave oversight by the school board.”

“Okay, but I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She wished he’d just tell her what he wanted to say. She had English  _ and _ science homework tonight, and three students had gone before her.

Xin handed her a glossy pamphlet. “I want to have you evaluated for dyslexia.”

“Dyslexia?” she repeated, rolling the unfamiliar word off her tongue.

“It’s a learning disability and, I suspect, why you struggle with reading comprehension.” Xin closed his folder. “Aesling, I know you feel stupid, but you aren’t. If your father had you evaluated as a child, this would be easier for you. Unfortunately, he failed to notice, and that is not your fault.”

“I want to call in Khalila Saab to discuss testing you, and once it’s been confirmed, we’ll set you up with an IEP. I’m sure this is why you’re struggling.” Xin handed her a packet. “I have some basic information to introduce you to dyslexia. Go home and look it over. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“It’s my pleasure. And in the meantime, you can get help with your classes at the youth center. I can call Horaven and tell him to give you a private room if you’re embarrassed.”

She hated to admit she wanted the privacy, but she wasn’t stupid enough to let her pride win over the need to pass high school. To prove she could make it on her own. “Yes, thank you.”

 

Markus met her in the parking lot, and she was surprised to see him there. She walked home from school -- Thog didn’t have a car, and even if he did, he wasn’t her dad. It wasn’t his job to ferry her around, and it wasn’t Markus’ either. He barely knew her outside the trial. She approached the sleek sports car and tapped on the window.

He rolled down the window. “Hey, Ashe. Thog told me you were staying late at school today talking to the guidance counselor.”

“Yeah,” she said stiffly. “Why are you here? I can walk.”

“I thought you might like a ride home,” he explained. “It’s getting dark.”

Ashe glanced at the setting sun. She didn’t live in the safest neighborhood, and Markus wasn’t a complete stranger. He wasn’t about to murder her, probably. She opened the passenger side door and slid in. “Thanks. Did Thog tell you to come get me?”

“Nope. I asked where you were, and decided to pick you up myself.” He started the engine. “If you asked, I would have given you a ride, you know.”

“You barely know me,” she pointed out. “And I can take care of myself. I’m eighteen.” He shot her an incredulous look, then furrowed his brow. “Uh, Markus? I need to get home.”

He jolted. “Of course. It’s just, your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

“I’m fine.” She prayed her shrug looked casual enough. “I’ve been having some trouble at school, but it’s not a big deal.”

Markus opened his mouth and closed it again. “Okay, if you want to work this out on your own, that’s okay. Just -- I’m here, whenever you need to talk.”

“I appreciate it.” She leaned against the window and watched the scenery speed by. Markus was a genius: he was articulate and never questioned if the words he was setting to paper would make sense. She doubted he would understand if he tried to explain her problems to him, and unloading on strangers wasn’t something capable adults did. 

  
  


The bell above the door jingled and Thog sighed. He didn’t have anyone to call in today after Demetrius went home sick, so he was stuck working the register until close. Again. And he was salaried, so he didn’t even get overtime for this.

“Welcome to the Last Stop Cafe, how may I help you,” he deadpanned. Anyone who expected him to be cheery at eight-thirty in the evening could walk back out the door.

“Dan, long time, no see,” Moren greeted, leaning against the shop door. He ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I’m surprised to see you still working here. I thought you hated it.”

“We can’t all live our dreams, Moren.” Thog tried not to be bitter about it -- that Moren left him, that Moren made it out, he wasn’t sure which. But, fuck, he couldn’t stop wondering if he gave up on him. Thog wouldn’t really blame him if he had. Thog was a mess, and he knew it. “I have rent to pay.”  _ And my boss blackmails me. _

Moren stepped toward him. “Hey, did I come on a bad day?”

His friend’s voice was gentle and too accommodating. It almost convinced him he twisted the knife. “You came on a regular day. We’re just understaffed.”

“Dan. I can get you a job with my company, you could come with me next time I go on a dig -- ”

“And do what?” he challenged. “I barely passed high school, I’m a college dropout, I have a criminal record -- ”

Moren cut him off. “You could do paperwork, desk work, you’re good at it -- ”

“I don’t need charity, Moren.” Thog said, slamming his hand down on the counter. “Thank you, but no.”

His friend deflated. “I stopped by San Ygnacio. Your abuela misses you, and she sent you these.” He slid a cookie tin across the counter. 

“San Ygnacio is pretty out of the way to have just stopped by.” Thog stored the tin under the counter to be retrieved later, in private. 

“I have family there, too, you know. My old man’s been hitting the liquor hard, since Mom passed. Ruined his liver. I wanted to see him before it was too late.” Moren scratched the back of his neck. “I thought about donating part of mine, but … I don’t think it will help. Just prolong his misery.”

“I’m sorry.” Thog’s throat felt dry and scratchy. “How are you holding up?”

“Well enough. He’s got a year left, the doctor said. I’m staying up here for a while, then I’m heading back south to spend some time with him.” Moren leaned against the counter. He gestured at the display case. “I hope those cinnamon rolls haven’t been under a heat lamp all day.”

“They have,” Thog said. 

He sighed and laid a crisp ten dollar bill between them. “I’ll have one anyway, and a latte. Keep the change, I’m starving. Haven’t had anything to eat since Laredo.”

Thog put the money in the register. “One latte coming right up.”

He prepared the latte in silence, and Moren didn’t break it. He almost wished he would. They hadn’t spoken in person in more than a year, when Moren had last offered to find him a better job and weekly phone calls hadn’t prepared him to meet his friend face to face. 

He hand the foam cup and stale cinnamon roll to Moren. 

“Thanks,” he said, before tearing into the food like he never heard of table manners. “Oh, God, this is good.”

“It’s really not.” He wrinkled his nose. “You should have eaten something on the plane or the airport. Even that shit is better than what we serve. You’re probably eating cardboard right now.”

“Don’t care.” He gulped down his drink without pausing to breathe, then grinned. “That could’ve been paint thinner for all I care.”

“You’ll die one of these days eatin’ this shit.” Thog reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You mind?”

Moren’s eyes widened. “You realize you just chastised me for risking my health. And you’re smoking.” 

Thog raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, go ahead. But give me one. I could used it.” He held out a hand expectantly.

He flicked the pack and removed the two that slipped out, handing one to Moren and sticking the other one in the corner of his own mouth. He pulled his lighter out and lit his first, then Moren’s. “I thought you quit.”

“Yeah, four years ago.” He exhaled a puff of smoke. “When do you get off?”

The clock read eight-thirty. They closed at nine, but it was a slow day. “Fuck it. Now, I guess.”

“What do you say we go find somewhere to grab a bite, my treat.” Moren tossed his empty cup into the garbage. “Dan, you live here. Show me what’s good.”

 

The Punch Dome buzzed with lively conversation around them. Thog recognized about half the people there, and the other half were tourists. Colvin Verity, the bar’s owner, was serving customers at the bar at uncanny speed. His aunt, Inien Johnson, served drinks next to him and told wild tales.

Moren glanced around. “I see where all your customers went.”

“We’re busier in the morning,” was his knee-jerk defense. “This place is pretty popular. If you can get Colvin’s riddle right, he’ll give you a free bowl of soup.”

“Let’s try it out, then,” he replied. 

They pushed through the crowds to the polished bar and snatched a pair of leather stools when their occupants stood up. Thog leaned on the bar. “Colvin, my friend here wants to try a riddle.”

The man perked up. “Ah, a challenger? Excellent. Here it is: What is black when you buy it, red when you use it and grey when you throw it away?”

“Easy, charcoal.” Moren gave him a bemused look. “I thought it would be harder.”

“The truth  _ is _ complex,” Colvin said. “But sometimes answers are simple. What kind of soup would you like?”

“You have any hambone soup?” he asked.

Colvin nodded and disappeared in the kitchen to retrieve the soup. Inien finished the drink she was mixing and approached them. “Can I get you anything else?”

Moren blinked at her for a minute. 

Thog cursed. “Your dad, right, I’m -- ”

“Give me a gin and tonic. Thog, you want one?” 

Moren wasn’t like this. Even as a somewhat-troubled teen, Moren had the semblance, at least, of having his shit together. He kept his clothes clean, maintained a three-point-oh GPA, volunteered at Our Lady of Refuge and ran track. No one but Thog had known his mother had cancer until her name appeared in the obituaries.

“Are you sure you want that? With everything at home, wouldn’t you rather have something else?” Thog made a mess of his life. He didn’t want Moren to follow him down that path.

Moren ignored him. “I’ll have an order of pretzel sticks with that.”

Inien hesitated, but Moren didn’t retract his order. She shrugged and started his drink. Moren thanked her with an easy smile and sipped at the drink while he waited for his food.

“Have you been sleeping?” Thog asked. “You look exhausted.”

“I should have been home,” he muttered, more to himself than to Thog. “I could’ve done something.”

Thog rested a hand on his shoulder awkwardly. “He was drinking long before you left. There’s no point in blaming yourself.”

“What new with you?” he asked suddenly. “Your new roommate, how’s that working out for you?”

  
  


Ashe was cursing her way through her homework on the couch when she heard people fumbling at the front door.

She opened her door to greet Thog and was surprised to see they had a visitor. The man following Thog sported a disheveled brown button-up and a sloppy grin. His sleeves were rolled up to expose chains and skulls tattooed on his arms. The stench of booze and smoke overpowered the apartment’s usual must. “Hey, Thog. Who’s that?”

“This is Moren, an old friend.” Thog helped the man over to his recliner and sat him there. “Moren, that’s Ashe, my flatmate.”

Ashe waved at him, but he had fallen asleep already in his chair. She tipped her head to the side. “Is he alright?”

Thog stared at Moren for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him like this, but he hasn’t had an easy time of it.”

“Oh.” She leaned against the wall. “Is he staying here, then?”

“For a few days, yeah,” he muttered. He glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“You have a friend. I’m just … surprised, I guess.” She shrugged. Thog was a loner. She never imagined that he had friends. It was a pleasant surprise. “Good for you.”

He sighed out through his nose. “Try not saying that kind of thing out loud.”

  
  


Ashe found Moren with his head in his hands at the kitchen table the following morning. He had a half-empty glass of water in front of him. He looked up when she entered. “G’Mornin’.”

He spoke with a heavy drawl. She poured herself a cup of coffee and put two slices of bread in the toaster. She sat down across from him. “Good morning. Uh, are you feeling alright? You looked pretty bad when Thog brought you in last night.”

He winced. “I … That’s not how I am all the time.”

“Thog said as much.” She sipped her coffee and checked the clock. Four thirty in the morning. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”

“I’m going back to bed soon. I don’t sleep through the night, so … ” He rubbed his temple. “Did I embarrass myself last night?”

“You fell asleep almost as soon as you got here,” she said. The toaster popped. “Eat something. It should help.”

Moren took the toast she offered him and grinned. “Thanks. Sorry you met me like that. Shit’s just been … well, shit. I guess you’re Thog’s roommate.”

“Yeah, I’m Ashe. In case you forgot.” She tore off a bite of toast and chewed it. “Hey, has Thog always had a huge stick up his ass?”

He laughed, winced again, and said, “No, no. He used to be really into art. Shakespeare in the Park, street festivals, slam poetry. Then things changed.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not my place to say what happened, but he hasn’t really been himself in a long time. He’s a great guy.” 

Ashe nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I have to go to work, so take care.”

“You too,” he said.


	5. Acting Differently

Thog woke up at noon with a throbbing headache. He groaned and shuffled out of his room and down the hall, bleary-eyed and damp from sweat. Was it allowed to be this hot in March?

Moren laid on the couch, hands tucked neatly beneath his head, watching the news. “Mornin’. Sleep well?”

“Like shit. Did Ashe use all the aspirin?” He stepped through the opening between the living room and the kitchen. He opened the cupboard and cursed. “I just bought a bottle not even two weeks ago. What’s she using them for?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s my fault you have a headache. I’ll run down to the store and buy you some more.” Moren sat up, brighter-eyed and bushier-tailed than he had a right to be. “Where do I need to go to get it?”

Thog returned to the living room. “There’s no point. I’ll go down the pharmacy at the strip mall and get some -- and lock it up. She’s going to kill herself, taking so many of these.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

“I don’t have a car, and it’s a bit of a trip,” he warned. 

Moren ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “We walked to The Punch Dome … and got back home, with me wasted. I can manage, really. Digs are labor-intensive, you know.”

“Fine.” Thog considered changing into clothes he hadn’t slept in and showering, but he was exhausted. “I’ll get my bike, and we’ll swing by the cafe after and harass Ashe for breakfast.”

He snorted. “I thought eating that stuff would kill us.”

“Can’t make me any worse, right?”

 

“I met Ashe this morning. We had a nice chat,” Moren said absently on the ride from the pharmacy to the cafe. “She’s cute, in a scruffy sort of way.”

“I guess.” Thog shrugged. He admitted she was attractive and more than tolerable company, but he hardly found himself wanting to ask her on a date. He wrinkled his nose. “Do you have a crush? You realize she’s, like, eighteen, right? If that. I can’t remember.”

Moren’s arms relaxed around his waist. He chuckled. “No, no. I was just curious, since last year you said she wasn’t staying long, but she still lives with you. That’s kind of something girlfriends do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I’m so desperate for a date that I’d ask a girl six years younger than me.” 

He paused and turned down Fourth Street, passing Horaven’s. Gregor Hartway and some blond kid waved enthusiastically from the steps. Thog held up a half-hearted hand and coasted by. “Anyway, Kyl’il probably wouldn’t have asked me to take her in if I was the kind of guy to do that.”

“Huh,” Moren replied. “Mrs. Garcia would be pleased if you found someone, is all I’m saying.”

“Sure,” he said. “And then she’d reach for  _ la chancla _ the moment she heard the age gap.”

Moren shuddered. “Your mom knew how to wield that thing.”

“She hardly ever did,” he amended hastily, a bit guilty bringing it up. “But, yeah, when she did use it …”

“Moren, did you ever settle down?” Thog asked. Moren used to talk about it sometimes, when they were still in San Ygnacio.

He shrugged noncommitaly. “Well, there’s this one guy, but it’s not going great. I move around a lot, so we don’t get to see each other, and I’ve been trying to get him to notice for a while. Might have to just break it off.”

Thog’s heart skipped and he frowned. He hoped he didn’t need to see a doctor. His insurance was shit.

 

* * *

 

Rat’s Flea Market was the creepiest place he’d ever seen. The decks of tarot cards stacked precariously, the Ouji boards leaning against the wall and what was  _ definitely _ an actual human skeleton, he could have handled. The taxidermy animals that glared with their beady eyes? Why the hell not. 

It was the owner. A small, stubbled man who followed them at a distance. Moren was used to store owners not trusting him -- he shoplifted and spraypainted as a kid, of course they were nervous -- but this was different. For one, the man’s name was Rat. For another he wouldn’t stop smiling at them.

“Is this place even legal?” Moren wrinkled his nose at the large cage dominating the center of the market. Rats sqealed from behind the bars. He shuddered involuntarily.

Dan shrugged. “Beats me. The cops haven’t shut it down, and he doesn’t overprice his goods, so I don’t really care.”

“Yeah, yeah, and the  _ rats _ ? What the hell?” He shuffled away, keeping Dan between him and the little beasts. He pretended not to notice the eyeroll. 

It was strange, he thought as he studied his friend. After years, Dan was still himself -- grouchy and pessimistic -- but off. He used to at least smile when they were kids. Now he just looked tired. 

A stab of guilt struck him. Dan was always the one who knew how to be responsible. The cops would never have believed it, but Dan knew how to make dinner since he was six, never needed help with his homework when he bothered with it, and he held down a job since he was fifteen. He just had different priorities.

Moren, at twenty-five, lived off frozen TV dinners at his desk. As a teen, he struggled through school with two-point-three average, the bare mininum to stay on the track team. He never planned to go to college, but then he got his scholarship. Running came naturally to Moren. Dan had always been the scrapper.

 

_ Moren saw them three blocks away. Without thinking, he gripped Danny’s wrist and bolted, turning this way and that, until they were panting against a brick wall.  _

_ “Why… are we running?” Danny gasped. The shiny bruise around his left eye was more pronounced than yesterday, and the cut on his cheek had scabbed over. _

_ “Saw… those kids… that beat you up yesterday,” he breathed out before he slid down the wall. _

_ Danny’s shoulders tensed and his dark eyes flicked around the alleyway, studying it. Looking for weapons. Moren reached up and took his hand, pulling him down beside himself. “Relax. They kicked your ass yesterday. You wanna go home with more bruises? Your mom won’t believe you fell off your skateboard twice.” _

_ “I’ll knock the big one out. The other two aren’t that tough,” Danny huffed. _

_ He rolled his eyes. “Sure.” _

 

“Moren, you have something to share with the class?” Dan deadpanned. 

He shook himself and grinned. “Nah, just, you changed a lot.”

“It happens.” He shrugged back. “Nothing really stays the same.”

 

* * *

 

The ride back to the apartment was quiet until Moren broke the silence.

“You know, I would’ve donated part of my liver, but my dad made a living will. He doesn’t want any life preserving procedures.” A pause. “Dan, I don’t know how much longer he has.”

“What?” Thog jammed on the brakes, almost throwing both of them over the handlebars. “Why are you here, then?”

He felt Moren’s flinch against his back. “Coming here wasn’t originally the plan. I couldn’t stay. He’s bad off, Dan. He chose to stop eating and drinking, to stop treatment. Would you have stayed and watched, if your mother gave up?”

“My mother would never just give up,” he snapped. “But if she were dying, yes, I would be there. You need to get on a plane and get your ass down there -- ”

“I. Can’t.” Moren got off the bike and crossed his arms in defiance.

Thog dismounted and leaned the bike against the wall of a nearby building. “You’ve always had your shit together, and now you’re here kicking yourself over shit you can’t help. Go home.”

“Why are you allowed to be a fucking mess, but not me? I offer you a steady, normal job, and I’m a nag --” Moren exhaled slowly, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but I watched my father give up once. I won’t do it again.”

He stood with his arms crossed, and Moren glared back.

They stayed like that for a full minute before Moren’s icy blue eyes melted. “Danny, I need a friend right now. Please,  _ please, _ don’t fight me on this. My father got to make his choice. Let me make mine.”

Thog swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t respond. He had to admit, he was being the asshole here. “Moren … I’m sorry. You’re right. I just don’t want you to regret this -- it might be your last chance to see him.”

“I know. Believe me, I thought this through.” Moren spoke mechanically now, like all the energy it took to be human just wasn’t there anymore. “We said our goodbyes, when he was having a good day. That’s how I want to remember him.”

“Moren, if you need, I’ll come back with you to San Ygnacio for the funeral. You don’t have to do this alone. I don’t give a shit what Karen has to say about it.” He awkwardly patted his shoulder.

That was all it took for Moren Davis, one of the strongest, most capable people he knew, to break.

Thog didn’t know how to comfort people, so he just held Moren while he shook with silent tears for the first time in fifteen years.

 

* * *

 

Ashe locked up the cafe for the night and threw on her hoodie. It was getting chilly out this late in the year, and Washington was always rainy. It was almost like Massachussetts in that way. It was a damn good thing she liked the rain.

She pulled up her hood and jogged down the street to Horavan’s, hesitating at the payphone outside of it. It had been a little over a year since she’d called her grandfather last, back when she had gotten homesick. She never called again. 

She should. Granda must be worried.

There was fifty cents in her pocket. 

With each dial ring, she prayed he would forgive her.

 

* * *

 

Zalvetta Zǔ threw another dart. It hit the bull’s eye with a satisfying  _ thud _ . Since Gregor got snatched, he’d been bored. High school wasn’t the same without him, and the only people he knew in this town other than him were his uncle and Horavan. 

His stupid father.  _ Thud. _ His stupid uncle.  _ Thud _ . His stupid ‘behavioral problems.’  _ Thud. _ Stupid --

“Watch where you’re throwing those,” Horavan boomed. “You might hit somebody.”

“I might,” he replied cheerfully. “Care to guess whom?”

Horavan plucked the last dart from his hand. “Don’t you have soccer practice tonight?”

“Season’s over,” he annouced, standing up and reclaiming the dart in one smooth motion. “Wanna spar?”

“Try someone more your own size,” he rumbled, though he did smile fondly. 

Zalvetta wasn’t sure he liked that familiarity. He scoffed and drew himself up. “There aren’t many my size, and less my skill.”

Horavan laughter irritated him. He wished Gregor were here so they could spar. He needed to hit something that would hit back. 

He stormed out of the center, past somebody using the payphone and yanked his bike off the rack. He raced down the street like a bat out of hell, determined to get into trouble. And if he could not find it, he would create it.

 

* * *

 

Ashe hung up the phone, resolved to call home more often. Maybe, she considered with a smile, she’d even invite her grandfather to visit. 

She entered the center, relishing in the warmth that washed over her skin, and looked around. She was supposed to recieve tuturing from Firi Lam, a senior girl who perched resolutely at the top of her class.

A blonde girl beamed from across the room. Ashe cleared the distance with a few long steps and sat down next to her. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on the universe:  
> 1) Kyl'il is Ashe's social worker, which is why she's helping her out.  
> 2) Thog is 25 and he dropped out of law school for financial reasons.  
> 3) The chapters will be chronological, but there will be gaps that I'll fill in later with other stories.  
> 4) All of the characters exist, all of them will show up. Even Ballast McGee. I have plans for him.


End file.
